


Man of my Dreams

by Sanshal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Cute, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7496049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanshal/pseuds/Sanshal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters had forbidden Chuck from writing about their lives... but he could always write about the women in their lives, right???</p><p>In other words, Chuck discovers a loophole to the Winchesters' demand that he stop writing about them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1.

The only reason I was still there was because it was Sally’s birthday... Sally; who had been my best friend since kindergarten. We were as different as they come: she was the star-athlete back in school and I was the star mathlete; she was the high-school sweet-heart all the guys drooled over and girls were jealous of and I was the geeky-sidekick. Still; our differences only made us appreciate the other more. And dressed in my favourite pair of Levi’s and armed with my Jimmy-choo shoes, I was feeling rather fabulous myself. Maybe that was the only reason I even dared to approach the rugged guy shooting back shots like water. Oh, and tequila might have played a part in my sudden Dutch-courage too.

 

I knew I was setting myself up for a rejection the second he turned and fixed those _to-die-for_ emerald eyes at me. But instead of the usual distaste my less-than-statuesque figure usually brought on, his expression was pleasant... _Appreciative even_.

 

“Hello, Sweetheart,”

 

Oh, damn. Even his _voice_ was making me weak-kneed.

 

“You sure you’re in the right place, darlin’?” He drawled, eyes roving over my form like he wanted to devour me, before flitting back up to my face. I liked that his eyes met mine when he spoke instead of straying say... a couple of inches lower. (What can I say? According to the majority of guys I’ve met, well-endowed women like me apparently have their eyes somewhere beneath their chin.)

 

“Huh?” Was my less than eloquent response.

 

“You should be at a tower somewhere. ... guarded by a mighty dragon. Isn’t that right, _Princess_?”

 

I couldn’t help it, I laughed at his lame (and cute!) pick-up.

 

“Are you saying you’d be unable to defeat one measly dragon, _Sir Knight_?” I teased back.

 

“Oh, the dragon doesn’t stand a chance against me.” He assured, flexing his arms even as his eyes crinkled at the corners like he’d said some joke only he was privy to.

 

It wasn’t long after that that he walked me home. Sally threw me a thumbs-up from across the bar where she was chatting with her admirers when she saw us and I have to admit it felt good to have the hottest guy in the room on my arm. And the rest... well, ladies don’t kiss and tell either. But I will admit that it was all rather... _memorable_.

\---


	2. 2

2.

I first met Dean Winchester when he came in search of ‘The Chief’. The two doms talked awhile and then Dean turned to leave. Bored of the options available at the club, I decided to see if _this_ dom would give me a chance. ( **Spoiler** : _He did!_ )

 

I remember how his eyes moved over my out-fit (I was showing more skin than I’d be comfortable with on a normal day; but what can I say? I wanted to be taken and taken hard, that night.) and then lingered at the collar. I remember him glancing around as he took in the club and his eyes told me he understood _exactly_ what I was asking for, from him.

 A smile told me he was willing.

 

Sometimes it helped being a regular patron who knows _just the guy_ who can provide you with the key of a private room.

 

I saw him look around at the display showcasing the options available if he wanted to use toys and I smiled inwardly as I kneeled. _God, I couldn’t wait for him to begin._

 

“Tell me what’d you want?” He murmured, stepping behind me.

 

“To please you, Master.” I answered obediently.

 

“Dean,” He corrected, “Call me Dean, please.”

 

I wondered if he had someone waiting at home- _if I was a substitute for someone_... but then shrugged the thought aside. _Dean_ was _mine_ tonight.

 

“Good girl,” He whispered.

 

I felt a frisson of warmth spread through at the praise.

 

“On the bed, sweetheart.”

 

I scrambled to obey.

 

He followed me. Pressing a kiss to my lips and then working his fingers- _big, callused fingers_ into my thick curls. I wasn’t sure when he divested me of my clothes but when I came up for air, my clothes were missing. ... I kind–of liked that: a dom skilled enough to keep me distracted while he stripped me.

 

But I wanted to see more.

 

“Aren’t you going to use any of those?” I asked lightly, arching my body the way I knew had the maximum effect. _Allowed him to imagine a bloom of pink rising across my flesh from his ministrations... of how good I would look covered in his marks..._

 

He picked up the crop with the thin leather braids. I knew from experience that they hurt. I anticipated not sitting comfortably for the next few days and squirmed with need. _A man after my own heart, it seemed_...

 

And he spent the evening using the little flogger on me.

 

But I had no trouble sitting even two minutes later if you discount my lax muscles...

 

Because Dean used the flogger in a way I’d never experienced... Not once did he flick his wrist and mark me. Instead he stroked the toy over every inch of my skin like a feather. Teased the slender leather braids over my heated skin and coaxed more pleasure out of me than I’d experienced in years.

 

And he did it all without giving me a single welt. Something that I, _as a masochist_ \- had never experienced before.

 

Was I satisfied?

 

_Yes._

 

And did I regret it?

 

_Yes... But only because he had to leave town the next day._

\---


	3. 3

3.

As a waitress at a truck-stop off the highway; I’ve seen my fare-share of ‘macho-males’. And it’s ABSOLUTELY annoying. I mean, yes, I can see you have about 200pounds of muscle. Yes, you tower over me. Yes, you can probably pick me up and twist me into a pretzel without even trying. I _do_ have eyes, fellas; and yes the occasional head-board banging, rouse-the-neighbours fling is great and all. But do you _all_ have to be like that?

 

I’m beginning to fear that the answer to that question might be yes.

 

Anyway, this current guy making eyes at me and giving me lame pick-up lines: I mean, “A smile of yours for dessert, sweetheart”... _jeez, could you get MORE corny?!_ \- is cute and all... But he’s big, I mean capital letters ‘B-I-G’; and his companion definitely has giant genes in him (So, yes, I get it. You’re compensating. You wanna show your ‘friend’: _Sammy?- Tommy? Bony? Bobby-...Something ‘me’_ \- your prowess.) But dammit, he’s cute. And a real look-er, despite those tired eyes.

 

So when my break rolls around and they’re still sitting, I give him a head tilt. He brightens up like a kid in a candy store.

 

I expected him to be the same as the others who roll pass through this nook of the earth. And yes, he lifts me up like I weigh nothing at all. ...Guess I might not need to stay away from those cinnamon rolls for breakfast after all, hmm? But I digress.  So, where was I?

 

Oh, yeah; he picked me up, and instead of slamming me up against the wall, pushed me up carefully against it like I was a porcelain doll or something that’d shatter at the lightest impact. And his fingers were callused but gentle when they touched my skin.

 

And ... it was _great_. Life-affirming.  ... The kind of sex I’d been craving and failing to get for awhile. Because here was a man who’s obviously physically strong; but he’d never use that strength against me.

\---


	4. 4

4.

Sometimes things happen that make you feel like you’d never recover from this... and then sometimes a knight in shining armour saves the day.

 

I was pleased to find that that kind of thing doesn’t always happen in Hollywood alone.

 

 

 

I was walking back from my late-shift and it was pretty dark. My route home was by a bar and more-often-than-not I got a few comments when I passed by. But that day there was a group of bikers who’d rolled into town. ... The comments were worse than usual but I sped up and hoped to be ignored.

 

My hopes were dashed when one of them strolled up and blocked my path. I veered left but his friend blocked that direction. I tried right but to no avail. Sighing, I discreetly reached in and tightened my grip on my bottle of mace.

 

“Let me go, please.” I tried.

 

“Aw, darlin’; don’t be like that...” The guy laughed, reaching out to grab my hand.

 

“No!” I shouted, panic freezing me the second his hand landed on my fore-arm.

 

_“Hey!”_

 

We all looked up at the deep voice from across the parking lot. I felt my heart sink as I watched another man, leather-jacket; macho-swagger in place, headed our way. There was another guy trailing behind him like a lost puppy though.

 

“The lady said ‘no’.”

 

“She yours?” The man holding my arm questioned.

 

Leather-jacket- _Dean, I learnt later_ \- cocked an eyebrow, “Does that matter?”

 

“Then get lost, man this doesn’t concern you.” The man spat, turning back to me.

 

“I hoped you’d say that,” Dean returned and before I could blink, a hard fist rammed into my   _wanna-be assaulter’s_ jaw.

 

“You little-” The man roared, letting go of me to face his attacker.

 

Dean was bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as though he hadn’t just punched a man, a grin on his face.

 

As the men loomed over one another, I carefully stepped back; the mace firmly held.

 

It wasn’t two seconds later that the situation dissolved into a free-for-all. I desperately wanted to escape, but was terrified of encountering a stray fist.  Fortunately, it was less than five minutes later that everything was over. Dean and the ‘puppy’ who looked more like a large-attack dog now that I’d seen him in action the only two still on their feet.

 

“You alright, sweetheart?” Dean asked, stepping towards me.

 

I-   _I’m ashamed to admit_ -... panicked. My finger squeezed hard on the button and my saviour was hit full on the face with mace.

 

He crumpled instantly.

 

I jumped when the bottle was knocked out of my hand by the angry puppy-boy. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” He growled, “My brother _saved_ you!”

 

I just stood there trembling, expecting a blow. Or worse.

 

“Sam!” A call from the downed man distracted the ‘brother’.

 

“Dammit, Dean. I told you not to get involved! Why d’you always have to do this, huh?”

 

Dean’s fingers were clenched tight on his brother’s shoulder. “They would’ve hurt her, man.”

 

“ _She_ hurt _you_!” Sam retorted.

 

“It was an accident! Right, sweetheart?” Dean called out.

 

“Yeah, umm... it was an accident. I’m sorry.” I stammered, terrified I’d get beaten to a pulp by the angry brother.

 

“You have water?” Sam demanded.

 

“What?”

 

 _“Water_.” Sam repeated like I was someone particularly slow, “So he can wash his face.”

 

I shook my head.

 

Sam sighed, then turned back to his brother who was still standing with his face pressed into his handkerchief, “Let’s go.”

 

To my surprise, Dean shook his head, “The girl,”

I shrank back.

 

“She can handle herself,” Sam growled; obviously not having forgiven me for the ‘ _accident’_.

 

“Sam,” Dean’s voice was full of reproach.

 

I heard Sam sigh as he turned back to me, “You stay close by?”

 

I bit my lip but nodded.

 

“We’ll drop you home. Don’t want you getting in trouble again,” Dean interrupted.

 

“I-”

 

“It’s not a problem.”

 

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

 

They walked me to a sleek black car. One of the older models, I noticed. And Sam pulled out a flask from somewhere to let Dean wash some of the stinging substance off.

 

I swallowed when I noticed the gun, but Sam obviously saw it that same second I had ‘cause he pulled it away and pushed it into his waistband. “We’re... uh... we’re cops. Off duty at the moment, but yeah... Don’t worry.”

 

“Oh,” _I didn’t tell him that I knew all the cops by face in this town, but for whatever reason- maybe because they’d just saved me- I felt safe._

 

The ride back was awkward and I felt guilty that Dean’s eyes were still watering heavily. _Thank God, he hadn’t been any closer..._

 

They dropped me off and I managed to mumble a ‘ _thanks_ ’- this time genuinely heart-felt- before they left.

\---


	5. 5

5.

Dean Smith flirted outrageously the first time we met. And frankly; when you’ve been widowed barely a month ago, it’s annoying. I shot him down but it didn’t seem to deter him.

 

When we crossed paths again, I was with my eight-year old and I was sure a child was going to put a damper on his libido. And I was right. He spoke nary a word to me. But he chatted away to my Cecilia and even managed an occasional smile from her.

 

The third time we met, my world and my beliefs had been turned on their head and it seemed like the house we’d lived in for ten years was going to kill us. Dean herded us towards the door and we were almost there when my husband’s antique chandelier- the one he’d had in his family for four generations- came crashing down on us. He pushed me away and I screamed as I landed against the wall, watching as it descended – _seemingly in slow motion_ \- over my daughter. And then he curled over her. The crystal shards shattered as they came into contact with his back and for a long moment nothing moved. Then he heaved up, pulling my Cecilia- _scared but mostly unhurt_ \- up as he did. I don’t know how he found the strength, but he hustled us out of the door and then went back in for his brother who was apparently doing something to neutralize what they’d said was a poltergeist. I blanched as I spotted his blood-specked back but stayed inside their big black car as I’d been told.

 

A gale seemed to shake the house and then everything settled.

 

The last time we met, I sneaked a kiss in; hoping fate would be kind enough to grant me this man who now reminded me of my own Eric and appeared to care for my Cecilia as well. From the way he’d flirted earlier, I expected him to aggressively take control of the kiss; but Dean’s response was gentle. It was a good kiss, I can’t say it wasn’t; but it was sweet, an exercise in pleasure rather than one in dominance as I’d expected.

 

It was his brother who interrupted us and then blushed adorably.

 

Dean smiled and gave me one last peck before disappearing over the horizon in that big car. I know I’ll never see him- or his brother- again.

 

But I still find myself wishing I’d not turned him down that first time.

\---*---

 

 

Chuck cracked his knuckles as he leaned back. The Winchesters had told him not to publish any more books about them, but this wasn’t really a book on their life, was it? It was more... the women they- _or rather Dean_ \- encountered. (Sam’s women would have made for a far more interesting book, but a human, a demon and were-wolf’s opinion on sex was too niche to really sell well.)

He wondered if the readers would realize that all these women were describing the same man...

The end.

 


End file.
